


vetch, verbena

by peleliu



Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: Bad Ending, Character Death, Coercion, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Possession, Suicide Attempt, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-22 00:47:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1569803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peleliu/pseuds/peleliu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Over the copper tang of blood and salt from the sea, Corvo can smell roses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	vetch, verbena

**Author's Note:**

> so this happened  
> http://mustachossom.tumblr.com/post/84721470526/  
> and then, because i am a bad person, i decided to write something to go along with it. my judgment is questionable. also i took a few small liberties with the timeline. errr.  
> knowledge of the Brigmore Witches DLC is basically your keycard for this one lol. elseways you're gonna be squinting loudly. 
> 
> WARNINGS for bad endings, violence, coercion, attempted suicide, dark imagery, emotional manipulation, possession, torture, and major character death. uhm. yeah that's about it.

   The wind has claws; the rain soaks him through. The pathway beneath his feet feels unsteady. There were men here, between him and her, and he tried to leave them alive, always tries, but there is blood on his sword and he cannot be sure.   

   He doesn't think of it. The rain, the wind, the lives on the ramparts. Everything is silent when he steps into the tower and rushes up the stairs with speed fueled by panic.

   No one. Nothing. He searches from the entryway and hurries on, finds blood on the floor and feels his heart seize in his chest. Dread is a cold thing twisting in his gut but he follows the trail, breathing copper, and he's in the rain again.

   Everything is slick. He minds his step, counts breaths, fights the wind that pulls as he climbs and looks ahead, always ahead. He cannot tell if he holds the railing or his sword more tightly.

   Blood leads him on. In his mind's eye he sees red soaking through soft white cloth. He cannot fail here. He cannot. Not again.

   Fear drives him. He rounds the doorframe at a sprint and is brought short at the sight of death.

   There is blood on Emily's hands, on her sleeves up to the elbows. On the lace around her collar. At her feet lies Havelock, unmoving. The rain has thinned his blood where it spreads across the metal of the platform.

   Corvo crosses the space between them in a heartbeat, goes to his knees at Emily's side, ignores how the metal bruises because she's noticed him now, and he hasn't failed her, he hasn't, she's all right.

   He reaches for her, and she turns to him, and when he looks into her eyes something frayed inside him finally snaps.

   Emily says, "You came for me." Emily says, "I knew you would." She says, "He's dead, I'm all right." She takes his hand and smiles and it’s wrong. Says, "Let's go, Corvo. Let's go home."

   Corvo hears her. He barely hears her. His pulse beats in his head, a rushing in his ears. There is a hollow place inside his chest that howls like the wind around him, but inside his mind is profound silence.

   "I'm going to be Empress."

   Over the copper tang of blood and salt from the sea, Corvo can smell roses.

\-----

   Time rushes. The return to the Tower is a hazy memory, something accomplished by another person, something observed. Testimony is given, and Corvo finds his name cleared. People move around him. At some point, he is alone.

   Emily sends summons the following evening. Corvo feels leaden, navigating hallways. Somehow he keeps walking, though the floor feels less than solid beneath him.

   There is no guard at Emily's door. The wood feels cold when he knocks.

   "Is that you, Corvo?"

   Her voice is muffled. The door opens before him and the room beyond is dark.

   "Silly," Emily says, and she's smiling when he meets her eyes. "Since when do you have to knock?"

   He follows her inside, and the door clicks softly when it shuts behind him. The lock seems loud. It should be more quiet. Unexpected. Corvo breathes and wonders why.

   "I wanted to talk to you," Emily is saying. She moves around him. Corvo watches moonlight cross her bedroom floor. "But, I thought we should be alone. Everybody's been so jumpy since we got back."

   She laughs, and he loves her, and for a moment he does not inhale. There is a vase on the little table by the window, overflowing with flowers. They are bled of color in the moonlight and their scent makes him dizzy.

   "I’ve been thinking," Emily is saying, “that maybe you should take a rest. After everything that's happened, I mean. Maybe go on a trip! To Serkonos, perhaps. That would work."

   She's at his left, paces away, walking the perimeter of the room. She comes to stand next to the window, and she looks so small. Corvo watches her hand when it lifts, when her fingers curl around something next to the flower vase.

   She isn't laughing anymore.

   "I'll tell them you needed to leave. That you didn't think yourself fit for duty any longer. After all that has happened, no one will question me. They might even be glad of it."

   Corvo hears soft footsteps somewhere behind him. He doesn't turn. There is a woman standing by Emily's bed, tall and thin, dressed all in fine cloth and wildflowers.

   Emily is watching him, and her smile is sharp like the knife in her hands. "You served very well, Lord Protector. But, I don't think I need you anymore."

   There is no breath in his body for words. Hands take hold of his arms, shapes on either side of him, and Corvo does not struggle when Emily steps forward. It's so dark, but she is bright in the moonlight.    

   "Will you not speak?" Emily asks him. Corvo watches her mouth move. He doesn't meet her eyes. "Don't you have questions?"

   There is a restless shifting from the women at his sides. Their nails are sharp where they bite into his arms.

   Emily is watching him. Emily tips her head, and the knife glints in her hands, spinning slowly. After a long moment, Emily smiles.

   "Corvo?"

   He does not look up. Does not look in her eyes.

   "Will you kneel for me?"

   The hands on his arms go slack when his legs fold. The buckles on Emily's shoes shine silver as she steps into his sight. Looking at the floor is easier, now.

   The knife slides into focus. Emily offers it to him hilt-first, laid across her palm, and at first he does not move.

   "Will you do this for me, Corvo?" Emily asks him. "Please?"

   His fingers close around the handle of the knife. He reverses it, a practiced movement. The blade points toward his chest. Between the ribs, just to the left. It will take force. He isn't sure how much.

   The point is razor sharp where it digs into his chest, stains the white of his shirtfront dark in a tiny circle.

   Emily's hand is cool and sudden around his wrist. His breath leaves him in a sob.

   "I changed my mind," Emily says, sing-song. Corvo's hands are shaking when she takes the knife away. "I have a big meeting in the morning. I planned it. Won't you come with me, Corvo?"

   Emily's hand is very small where it stretches toward him. He reaches out, and her fingers link with his. It's so hard to breathe.

   "I think," Emily says, "maybe you could wait a little longer. To go on your trip, I mean."

   The knife is gone. They are alone now, somehow. Corvo can't look away from the silver buckles on Emily's shoes.

   "Go back to your room now," Emily tells him, and he rises, and doesn't think. "Come get me in the morning. Don't be late, okay? Promise?"

   She watches him until he nods and then her hand is gone, and he's turning to the door. The blood on his shirt feels tacky and cool.

   Emily wishes him goodnight before he's in the hallway. He shuts the door, and his feet are moving. Morning will come soon, and he promised.

   His hands are still shaking when the last lamp in his room goes dark.

\-----

   Captains and Generals stand in rows. The new Spymaster, the new High Overseer. The gathering is formal and subdued.   

   Empress Emily Kaldwin stands on a raised platform and regards them all as she speaks, a picture of serenity. She is dressed in white, and there are flowers in her hair.

   At her side, Corvo is still as stone. Behind them stands a row of six women in impeccable uniform, crisp blue and gold.

   "It's a hard decision to make," Emily is saying, somewhere along the line of her speech as she addresses the assembly. "The Lord Protector has always been important to the Kaldwins. Corvo was important to my mother, and he's important to me, but sometimes, change is necessary."

   She speaks with precise, childish authority, hands clasped behind her back, head high.

_Her run was always careless. The shoes, she'd complained, weren't quite right for it. She'd told him this and laughed as her tutor tried to make her sit up straight._

   "And so, in light of recent struggles, Corvo has chosen to step down from his role as Lord Protector," Emily says. The hall murmurs. "In his stead, I am instating a new force. My own, personal guard, all hand picked by Corvo."

   The women at their backs reposition to salute. They move in unison, a picture of discipline, sharp and precise. Corvo does not know their names.

   "I have the utmost confidence that they will follow in Corvo's footsteps, and the footsteps of Protectors before him, as a force to be reckoned with. I trust Corvo's judgment in this."

   Emily moves, and Corvo looks to her, meets her eye for just a moment, because he has to, because she expects it. She looks right through him.

   "I trust him more than anything," she says to the assembly, and looks away, and Corvo is cold beneath the weight of his formal coat.    

   "It's a big change, but it's for the best," Emily is saying. "And though he will no longer hold the position of Lord Protector, Corvo has chosen to remain here at the Tower. He is, and always will be, a part of the Kaldwin family."

   Voices rumble, something like approval, maybe. Faces blur together in the crowd.

   "So... that's it," Emily says, and she laughs as if embarrassed, taps the toe of her right shoe on the floor. Waves at the sea of uniforms before her, a quick flash of her hand. "Thanks for coming, everyone."

   Dismissal sets the assembly to disperse. Emily turns to Corvo, smiling. Her hair shines when she tips her head.

   "Come, Corvo," she says, with something like cheer. Or maybe it’s triumph. "Let's go to lunch. In the garden, I think. You should like it there."

   Corvo takes her hand when she reaches out, and her touch is warm and familiar. He tells himself this, again and again, as Emily leads him away from the stage.

   By the time they've reached the garden, he's made himself believe it.

\-----

   Corvo is with Emily for her every outing after that. There are shadows that follow in their wake. They wear blue and gold, and they are always watching.

   Emily wears flowers. She says that she likes them, and Corvo doesn't listen to a voice that says she never cared before.

   One afternoon, Emily pins a flower to the front of his coat. It is small and purple, and he looks at her with a question in his eyes.

   "It's a meadow saffron," she tells him, smiling. "It suits you."

   And he doesn't understand, but he wears it for her. Because she wants it, and it is simple, and he would give her everything, but she is all he has. 

\-----

   Emily had known that they would come for her. She told him, and he had not questioned her. She told him, and he didn't say, _they've left_ , didn't say, _I spared him_ , didn't say, _It's different now_.

   Emily said, "They will come for me," and Corvo has not slept for days.

   She is right.

   They come by rooftop, and this time, it is night. Corvo does not wonder after the guards who had been set to patrol the halls, or the men stationed on the walls outside. He has eyes only for the shadow that moves through the slash of light from the hall when Emily's bedroom door is pushed slowly open.

   Corvo does not breathe until the latch clicks shut. When he peels himself away from his corner of shadow, his only greeting is the hissing song of a sword being drawn.

   Daud looks at him, and for the briefest moment there is no recognition in his eyes. Then his weight shifts and his teeth bare, something like frustration darkening his expression. He tries for silence, shapes a word, but it's Emily's voice that speaks it aloud;

   "Corvo?"

   Both men look toward the bed where Emily is now sitting up, watching them. Her eyes are huge. She is so still.

   Corvo takes one careful step to the side and he is standing between Daud and the bed, his sword held level, and he watches Daud's expression twist with something he cannot place.

   "You don't want to do this," Daud says, very quietly. His hands are lifted, just a fraction, and Corvo wonders why he hasn’t drawn his sword. "You don't understand what's happening here."

   Corvo's throat works. When he inhales, he can feel his heart beating too fast in his chest.   
  
   _Where are the other guards? Why only him?_

   Cloth rustles softly behind him when Emily moves.

   "That's him," she breathes in something like horror that claws up Corvo's spine and tightens his hand around his sword. "He's the one that killed my mother."

    "No!" Daud snarls, his hand slashing the air, and Corvo thinks, that doesn't make sense, it's wrong. Daud is looking at him, not pleading but something like it. "You don't understand," he says again. "She's tricked you, just like everyone else. I wasn't fast enough--"

   "Corvo," Emily gasps behind him, her voice fragile, as if she were crying. Corvo's blood is a thundering in his ears. "He's here to kill me. He's going to kill me like he killed my mother!"

   "She isn't what you think she is!" Daud is shouting. Desperation. Corvo reels and his sword is shaking. Somewhere behind him Emily is saying his name, high and terrified, over and over, but he cannot look away from the man in front of him. _He never wanted to hurt Emily._

   "I missed my chance before, but not this time." _He never wanted this._ "Listen to me, Corvo. You need to realize that you've been fooled." _He said he never wanted to hurt her._ "Think about it. Has she been the same? Is she who you remember?" _Corvo!_ "Look at her! That is not your Empress! Emily Kaldwin is dea--"

   He doesn't remember moving. There is a thick wetness on his fingers, and soaking into the hilt of his sword. The blade is gone from sight. Between the ribs, just to the left. It hardly took any force at all.

   Daud takes a breath that sounds like agony. His hand comes to rest on Corvo's shoulder, and when he looks up, Corvo finds himself frozen. Daud looks him in the eye and it's like he's being seen for the first time.

   "You knew," Daud breathes. There is blood at the corner of his mouth, and it runs in a thin line down his jaw. When he falls, Corvo's hands slip from his sword. They are slick with blood. His ears are ringing.    

   Emily is at his side when he sinks to his knees, her arms thrown around his neck. "You saved me," she says into his shoulder, and he thinks to return her embrace, but his arms hang useless at his sides.

   "You always save me," Emily says, very quiet. Her hands frame Corvo's face and turn his head toward her, make him look away from the blood spreading slowly across her floor. "And you always will. Won't you, Corvo?"

   There is a shout from somewhere outside, distant alarm. Corvo looks into Emily's eyes and he cannot move.

   Warm blood is soaking into the fabric of his pants where he kneels.

   Emily strokes his hair and smiles.

\-----

   The lanterns are purple, and they are his only source of light. Scattered around the room they cast strange shadows on the basement's stonework walls, shadows that stretch long and thin from the feet of rose-clad women in the costumes of soldiers.

   The light makes his blood look black on the floor.

   "You are truly singular," Emily says, so gentle as she plucks a thorn from his hair. He follows her with his eyes because it hurts to move. "I'd thought you would be an obstacle," she is saying, and she circles him slowly where he kneels on the floor, unable to rise. Their ritual had lasted so long. "But you continue to surprise me."

   Emily stands before him again and Corvo sways, would fall if not for the stinging vines coiled all up his arms. His shirt has gone all red and soaking against his skin. It hurts to breathe.

   Emily looks at him, and her eyes shine with something like approval. Her hand feels so cool against the side of his face, a relief from feverish heat.

   "Loyalty like yours, it isn't very common," she goes on, and her heels click on the stone floor as she walks around behind him. He cannot help but gasp when she lays a hand across his shoulder, when her fingers curl around the stems of flowers growing out of torn flesh.

   "I will not waste you," Emily says, and the tone is wrong, reverent and malicious all at once, but she combs her fingers through his hair with a fondness like she used to, and he closes his eyes so he doesn't have to see. “And you will not leave me, will you, Corvo?” she says, and she presses a kiss to his temple, and then she pulls away.

   They cut him loose, pry thorns from his skin, wash away blood with cool water and patience. Emily talks to him, tells him of her garden as she lays a needle to his skin, talks of her art and binds his shoulder with long strips of white gauze. And if he doesn't look, he can pretend, can believe everything she says, can continue to breathe, can take her hand when she offers it, can follow at her heels come morning.

   But he can never see. Because he promised, and Emily always smells like roses.

 

**Author's Note:**

> vetch, verbena, and meadow saffron are three varieties of flowering plants mentioned in this story. in Victoria’s Dictionary of Flowers, their meanings are, in order, as follows:
> 
> _I cling to thee_  
>  _Pray for me_  
>  _My best days are behind me_  
> 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] vetch, verbena](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7282879) by [Kess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kess/pseuds/Kess)




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